Tuesday, February 16, 2016

This one is a bummer of a post

I'm sad this morning.

Writing classes tell you to find another word for sad because it gets overused.

Melancholy.

Morose.

Dejected.

Blah.

But I am going with sad. It's a great word that cuts right to the heart of things.

I have to decide what to do about a dog I love. I wish the next line is, she's sick and only has ___ to live. But she isn't sick.

She hurt Dexter. Over a fucking treat.

Normally when you have a two dog household and there is a flare up you don't end up with blood all over one dog and a badly damaged nose. But Dexter gives up almost 45 pounds to Lucy Liu so she will always get the better of him.

Last night I might have killed her myself if I didn't have two already traumatized people here.

The little guy trusted me to take care of him, to protect him. I failed and now he bears the scars. Bares the scars? Whatever.

Lucy Liu chose me. And now I have to decide whether to keep her or get rid of her. Getting rid of her means she'll likely be put down. For the days or weeks before they put her down, she's going to be alone and scared, TGB pointed out. That's a double indemnity if ever there was one.

I fell in love with her. I have had dogs most of my life and never felt this thing I feel with Lucy Liu. Felt.

Now I go down to her kennel and I feel so fucking angry. You had one fucking job, Lucy - DON'T HURT DEXTER! That's fucking it! Everything else is negotiable, but would never in a million years lead to me letting you go.

The easy thing would be to throw her in my truck and dump her at the SPCA. When I look over at Dexter - who by this point most mornings has jumped on my lap a few times - laying in his bed, miserable and bloodied, the easy thing seems the most sensible.

Then I think about Michael Vick.

The fighting dogs that were rescued when he was arrested were far worse than Lucy Liu and they were rehabilitated and placed in homes okay. Lucy Liu is nowhere near that level of damaged or vicious.

Maybe I failed her too. She went after him when we first brought her home and I wrote it off to the newness of the experience and my handling Dexter. A dear friend who has worked with dogs suggested getting a specialist to help make sure the home is always a safe place for everyone involved. She said this would likely include some behavior modification on my part. Being the genius that I am, I decided that I would modify my behavior and see if that worked. It did for over a year until last night. Arrogance bites me in the ass again.

That pun was not intended.

There is no neat resolution to be found in the this post. It's just the noise from a sleepless night put in front of my own eyes for a better look.

I was going to post a picture of Dexter, but some of you may be eating. From his looks, he took a claw across the nose - three bloody gashes across the front of it, and a chomp on a paw that smarts. I suspect she chomped the paw to hold him while she clawed his face. Nothing life threatening. His nose still works well enough to find peanut butter Kong treats (we tested it).

Enough words.

No sprinkles today.

From better days